A Hero he was, and a hero he is
by MiiYuKira
Summary: A one-shot featuring Loghain and Amell; where an elven mage falls in love with the Hero of River Dane, despite the past. Romance content ahead! Bioware owns all characters, dialogue and the entire world of Dragon Age. First person narration


A Hero he was, and a hero he is

A/N: So I kind of fell in love with Loghain and wrote this. *coughs* let me know if you liked it- heck, let me know even if you didn't. Thanks for reading!

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><p>The light the burst from the gash I made in the beast and its widening column swept out all thought from my head with an intense raging whiteness— I no longer felt the pain from the sight of <em>him<em> disappearing over the side of the Fort.

It was done.

The Blight was done, and all I had left were my memories, images that were rapidly disappearing into that blasted great brightness. Scenes that I thought were long gone, and were now definitely going, teasing me as they vanished with a final glimpse. A final glimpse of him.

xOxOx

I was raising my staff, standing over the fallen man— being handed a blade, and hearing the raucous calls to slay him. Nobles and Alistair alike.

I didn't want to.

He was a Hero, once _my_ hero, a symbol of freedom that was dear to me. A mage and an elf; I never once felt free, free to choose, free to live, or even free to love.

He was also not bad looking, if that helped things along. So I refused. And I lost a friend. _He_ left to be King. It was probably for the best.

Thus, the Landsmeet concluded, though few understood my choice— but I didn't care. I was leader; after all, my decisions were all that mattered. He was to join the Grey Wardens.

Days passed as we went on the road again, something about a golem. Huge, rock-like things, apparently.

I didn't remember much from the First Enchanter's lectures about mythical creatures; most of them were huge, scary monsters that hunted and ate children and elves. Dragons used to terrify me the most—they _breathed_ fire. As my luck would have it, the archdemon just _had_ to be one.

But we had fought that High Dragon on that mountain, as well as survived Flemeth's to protect Morrigan, so I knew that we could do this. What was one more? We now had a famed hero on our team.

He had followed, not very willingly, but it seemed that he was relieved that another was in charge, he deferred to my words, my orders, even my jokes. And I made the worst jokes—it was a wonder that I had any of my companions left. Oddly enough, no one said a thing about my choice to keep him alive, though they were usually so full of opinions.

The party conversations rarely included our newest member, and his silence was unsettling, so much so that the only sounds we heard from him were the clanking of his platemail. I left my place at the lead of the party, falling behind to engage the human whose name was once synonymous with 'Liberation'.

"Um… Is it okay if I call you Loghain? I don't know how else—"

"That would be fine, _Commander_." Some extra emphasis was laid on that last word. I agreed. I didn't like it either. I hated being called 'Warden'— I too had a name. Maya.

"Oh, I'm no Commander… Not like you anyway— I'm a mage."

"And mages cannot be commanders?"

"Well, I don't like the looks of platemail. Robes are nice, all gold and embroidered. Ooh, and swishy."

The man began, "I wasn't talking about—" before breaking off with a sigh. "…If you say so." He seemed depressed as he handed me up a steep incline.

Okay, that didn't go so well. Perhaps something about tea then. Tea was a universal favourite— even _Sten_ liked tea.

"Do you like… tea?"

"Pardon?" Now he was confused. I needed a good topic. Help.

"Tea? Coffee? What does a man your age like?"

"A man my— I suppose I prefer tea to coffee."

"It really warms the bones doesn't it? At least—Wynne says it does. I have some that you can have later."

"Indeed."

I noticed that the others were having a hard time walking straight, their shoulders shook most violently. Were they quite all right?

It was only when I'd regained my lead in the front when I caught sight of their suppressed mirth, faces twitching uncontrollably.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," came the chorus of replies.

It was then their chuckles erupted, becoming roars of laughter. I suppose I should feel mildly insulted. They weren't sharing the joke.

xOxOx

Maya, her name was, the Warden, her speech light and lilting, her manners gentle and not unpleasing, hard to believe that she was the same bashful recruit from Ostagar. She seemed so pure, so undoubtedly at odds with the other more— worldly members of our party that it made her almost...endearing. But she wasn't foolish. One must not mistake her for a senseless child.

And yet, our leader confused me, her innocence (or should I say naivety) throwing me off— it had been so different from her manner at Denerim. She had been cold against the cries for my execution, her terse, curt words a finality to that argument. But she seemed like such a child just now, I caught her skipping back to camp— but that girlish moment was marred by the fact that she had just brought down two quails with rapid lightning bolts— she had been off hunting for our dinner. She had won the competition with the assassin, who was quietly keeping his bow and arrows. We were to take the same watch, on the account of that blasted _tea_. She had the strangest way with words.

"How's the tea?"

"It's fine." The tea had indeed created a kind of warmth around one's middle, against the low temperatures of the wintry season.

"Not too sweet?"

"No."

"Well if you need more there's—"

"Just how long are you going to keep this up?"

She stared in silence, uncomprehending my sudden interruption.

"You can stop pretending. Everyone else is asleep."

"What?"

"You don't have to act like a child around me."

"But… this is how I normally behave." Her amber-flecked eyes mirrored the flames, widened in shock.

"You hide behind that child-like demeanor when in fact you—"

"I am not a child." Her words were quiet— pointed, a statement, not a protestation.

"My point exactly." In truth, something in that voice hit home—and I immediately felt foolish. Insulting one's direct leader at this point was unseemly.

xOxOx

"You know—you hide behind a mask too—Loghain." I saw the man raise an eyebrow at me as we made camp at Redcliffe. I just had to get back at him for calling me a child.

"And what mask is that? I do hope it looks better than the usual."

"You hide behind your age too."

"Excuse me?"

"You pretend that since you're older, you'll automatically have more wisdom and experience, and hence, your opinions about others cannot possibly be wrong. But even you can't ignore that there are some things you haven't accounted for."

Loghain's eyes narrowed as they surveyed me, and I belatedly hoped that it was not too rude to have said all of that to his face. I had been accused of being tactless, back at the Tower. Zevran said it was what made me _adorable_—but Sten had disagreed most definitively.

A half-smile curled, and the man nodded as he turned away, setting up his tent in the waning light of the day. "You may be right." That one smile (I'll count it as a full one too) lit up his face, reaching his eyes in a brief twinkle.

I found myself speechless, my tongue wouldn't work—I was too busy goggling at the sudden transformation that had left Loghain so—youthful in appearance.

xOxOx

We spent countless nights on the same watch, Loghain and I. It always took a fair bit of coaxing, but he began to open up, telling stories from his past, even the battles he fought in King Maric's army, as well as the retaking of the Ferelden throne. He made a simple storyteller, the purveyor of facts, laid bare for whoever was interested— although he was still hesitant to speak of Rowan, or his wife, preferring to refer them as to who they meant to the rest of Ferelden, one a queen, and the other a good woman.

The look he got—sober yet lost, relieving these memories through the tale, was captivating. One could see the same rebellious young man, fiercely loyal, eyes aglow in the dark, as he recounted the life he'd had, the dreams he shared.

He felt strongly, loved deeply, lived as best as he could. I didn't really blame him for his decisions, unfortunate as they were. Blame he accepted readily, guilt he carried with ease. I knew then that he was, the epitome of what I wanted, and the tragic character he took on as well as he could. I loved him.

xOxOx

Many nights were spent in the same manner, her cleverly wheedling my life's stories out of me, idyllic conversations and wordless _goodnights_, her small head bobbing in greeting. Somehow the way she acted made it all the more attractive—even as that tentative kiss one cold night had caught me off guard.

Now, it had progressed into something more, an experience I had not expected, a feeling I haven't felt since… her.

No. With Maya, it seemed to be something else altogether. Something less… dependent.

"I am old enough to be your father. You're even younger than Anora."

She had evaded these words with ease, her logic undeniable.

"But you're not my father. So why should age matter? I am no longer a child."

She never shied away from my protestations, if anything; her simple propositions convinced even me. Her attempts were admirable, her advances not unwelcome, though strange as they were.

xOxOx

I was a human and she an elf, a mage, a warden, and also a woman. She— who carried the burdens of her race, her magic, her fallen comrades at Ostagar, coming onto me with little hesitation; we made an odd pairing. It was impossible, and yet here we were.

It did seem that I was making too much fuss over something that felt so natural. None of the party had yet commented on our situation, and for that, I was somewhat thankful. This keeping mum didn't last.

Leliana broached the subject privately, approaching Maya that final night at Redcliffe. Giggles were heard, and they returned from their washing up arm in arm. The teasing was gentle, but still oddly—embarrassing.

"Where did you get these… tattoos?"

I stroked the curving lines on her right shoulder, tracing the outlines that were intricate and delicate. It wasn't the only one either, the dark ink trailed below her left hip, a much more _intimate_ area. Both were butterflies, exquisitely feminine.

"Oh? Zevran did those after our battle with the high dragon—I honestly wanted a dragon in commemoration but he insisted on a butterfly… He did the other when we crossed Morrigan's mother. They're awesome, aren't they?"

She grinned, and her olive green eyes glimmered in the darkness of the tent. Elves really did seem to have jewels for eyes—the barest light caught and was magnified every fleck of gold.

"They… do suit you."

I didn't know what else to say. To express my concern at the _Crow_ having seen her in such a state of undress, or to marvel at his handiwork—I decided on the diplomatic choice.

This was apparently the right decision; for her smile widened— and she placed a delicate hand on my cheek, guiding me down for another kiss.

xOxOx

I found myself, drifting in a beyond—a world made of light, shadows, whispers, voices. They felt vaguely familiar, but all were distant. This was not the Fade, and I suspected that the afterlife with whoever it was—Maker or Creator, wouldn't be quite so… vague.

The comfortable presence lingered, seeming to be ever nearer, by my elbow, next to me, hovering somewhere—close. I gasped, and sat up, dragging myself upwards through what felt like the membranes of eternity.

"Maya—" The man I yearned for had left his chair, advancing upon the bed in which I lay, his lack of hesitance warmed things in me that had once been left cold—drained—by… the archdemon's soul?

"I… What's…?"

"It is over. The Blight has ended."

I wondered if it was due to sheer luck. "And you're alive. I'm alive." Riordan could be wrong, couldn't he?

"Yes, yes we are." Unless… Alistair couldn't possibly have slept with Morrigan—could he?

Loghain enveloped me in the tenderest of hugs, gentle and tight—and I felt a slight tremor that I couldn't quite place. It definitely wasn't one of excitement.

"Bad news—I assume?" I wondered aloud, gently tugging at the dark braids that lined either side of that distinguished profile, wishing that his face were nearer to mine. He seemed content to have me nestle in that manner—against his neck. I struggled to sit upright. I needed to see his whole visage —I had to know, I had to read the minute changes in his expressions.

"In a manner of speaking." And yet—his eyes glinted in amusement—a rare and interesting occurrence, but I didn't feel the slightest bit better. I loved the man—but sometimes I wondered if his ironic and self-deprecating remarks were intentional.

"And that is?"

"Inside of you…" There was a growing mirth, barely distinguishable in his voice, but his eyes gave it away.

He let his sentence trail off, keeping me in suspense. He knew I disliked that. "What?"

"Wynne suspects that—" Now—there was awkwardness. It must be something horribly wrong.

The tension was killing me. "Will you just tell me already?"

"You're pregnant."

xOxOx

For one long moment, Maya remained silent—emerald orbs cast down, brooding on my words. I began to worry, when a bubble of laughter rose from her lips, relief sparking in those lovely eyes.

"Is that all?" She now had her arms around my neck, and I allowed myself to be lowered over her, our mouths meeting in a greeting that was both hungry and satisfying.

I found my hand slipping beneath her shift—gingerly caressing the body that was now familiar to me, her arch of her back, the long scar that stretched across her abdomen. With child or not—I yearned to ravish her, to have her where I felt she belonged, with me.

We did not even hear the door swinging open, so… distracted we were in our indulgence—but were sobered by the appalled gasps ensuing from our similarly shocked intruders. Never would I have ever imagined that they would catch us like this, although in all honesty, they should have knocked first.

"Well… this is awkward."

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><p>Thanks for reading! Oh. Please leave a review~ *winks*<p> 


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